


One Last Time

by Elle_Song



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Domestic, F/M, Gen, Rekindled Romance, slightly loose canon compliance, world building and reminising
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-20
Updated: 2016-08-20
Packaged: 2018-08-09 23:38:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7821703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elle_Song/pseuds/Elle_Song
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Going somewhere, Clarke?" </p><p>She looked up from her bag. Bellamy, of course. </p><p>A decade had passed and lines from hot summers, cold winters, and hard choices had built up on each of their faces, but his faith in her had remained. He'd watched over and supported her the entire time. The last time she'd tried to leave, after Mount Weather, he'd been the one who'd convinced her to return. Of course he’d be the one to guess what she was up to this time. </p><p>He didn’t seem surprised at all to find her ransacking her own room. But his brow was furrowed, and she knew she'd have to explain as best she could, even though the haze of this surreal night was making her tongue feel thick and slow.</p><p>"It's been ten years, Bell," she said, hands still digging through piles of clothes. "I've done enough. They don't need me anymore."</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Last Time

One last time

 

"To our new Chancellor!" Clarke said, raising her glass to toast the young woman sitting across from her. Lyric smiled back, pushing long strands of tightly braided hair out of her face as she toasted Clarke in return. Lyric was twenty-one, which had seemed young to many voters, but Clarke had made it a point to remind them that she had helped found the original settlement at age seventeen. Earth was a world ruled by the youth.

Besides, Lyric had half grown up on Earth. She'd only been eleven when the Arc had crashed. Lyric had lived under Abby's, Kane's, and eventually Clarke's rule. She'd experienced the A.L.I.E. revolt and the culling of Mount Weather, but had been too young to participate in either. She had lived through, but was free of, the older generation's sins. It was a particular advantage. Not to mention she'd spent two summers working in Indra's camp, cultivating positive Grounder relationships. She was smart, kind, and dedicated. She had a vision of peace and knew what it would take to achieve it. 

Lyric had run on a platform of improving lives and sustaining the peace that the majority of the 100 had died for. And she had won in a landslide. It seemed the Sky People were finally ready for a quiet life. 

Clarke smiled at the other woman. She was only seven years younger than Clarke herself, but it felt like a new generation taking over. 

"I trust you to lead our people through both prosperous and trying times, with the strong moral compass and honest convictions you have already displayed. I am proud to have such a worthy successor," Clarke told Lyric, and the surrounding crowd. 

"And I, such an honest example to follow," Lyric replied. Everyone drank to that, including Clarke, who could feel a hundred pairs of eyes upon her as she did. She ignored the attention, instead choosing to smile at the girl who would carry her mantle. 

Many people had been upset and confused when Clarke hadn't sought another term. She knew they would've voted her in easily. She could've spent the next twenty years as chancellor, just as Jaha once had. The people trusted her. But she was twenty-eight years old and had held some position of power or another for the past ten years. It was no way to live, not truly.

For a long time she had planned to retire from politics and work as Arcadia's doctor, but last year her mother had found two very promising protégés and decided to train them together. They were both progressing nicely, and the Sky People wouldn’t lack for medical care. So for the first time in her adult life, Clarke had thought about what she wanted, rather than where she was needed. 

She sawed away at the roasted pig on her plate, smiling and talking jovially with all who approached her. She drank three glasses of wine and steered every conversation away from any serious topics. No one would see a twinge of doubt or disappointment from her tonight. Ending her reign only made her deliriously happy. 

\- - -

Three hours later, after the induction feast had ended and the rest of the camp was drunk or asleep, Clarke began slightly tipsy packing. She had a medium sized cloth bag shoved under her bed that she'd used for diplomatic trips to Grounder territories in the past. She pulled it out now, looking around the small room in the wooden house that she had built for herself. When she had decided to stay, accepting that she had the ability to lead in a way that her people desperately needed, she had set down roots. Building this house, collecting frivolous decorations - even learning how to sew clothes and cook for herself. For about six months, when she was still an advisor and not an elected official, she'd briefly considered roots of a permanent kind. Her friends were having children and getting married. It hadn't sounded too bad. 

But then she'd been chosen as chancellor, and the stress would never allow it. Every child in the camp became her child, and it was suddenly her responsibility to figure out how to feed, and clothe, and house them and their parents. 3,000 people looking to her. It was an insane amount of responsibility, and she had become the job. How weird to think that she was finally retired. It was like shedding a layer of chainmail she’d forgotten she was wearing.

"Going somewhere, Clarke?" 

She looked up from her bag. Bellamy, of course. 

A decade had passed and lines from hot summers, cold winters, and hard choices had built up on each of their faces, but his faith in her had remained. He'd watched over and supported her the entire time. The last time she'd tried to leave, after Mount Weather, he'd been the one who'd convinced her to return. Of course he’d be the one to guess what she was up to this time. 

He didn’t seem surprised at all to find her ransacking her own room. But his brow was furrowed, and she knew she'd have to explain as best she could, even though the haze of this surreal night was making her tongue feel thick and slow.

"It's been ten years, Bell," she said, hands still digging through piles of clothes. "I've done enough. They don't need me anymore."

He opened his mouth as if to protest, then closed it again. She smiled weakly. He knew it was true. She wasn't being selfish doing this, she assured herself. She'd earned her freedom this time.

"Where will you go?"

Clarke looked up at him. The lines on his face had darkened, and he suddenly seemed older. Thirty-two years of life he'd struggled and fought through. At least her childhood had been happy; he hadn't even had that. 

"I don't know yet. The mountains are getting a little old. I'd like to see the ocean, to have a chance to draw the waves."

He nodded, stern-faced. It'd been a long time since she'd seen him so serious, and it pinched at something deep inside her to feel him shut her out so soundly.

"When?"

"Tomorrow night. Once I'm packed. I'll say goodbye around the campfire." 

It had become tradition that at least one adult from each family would meet at the evening fire once a week. The governing body would convene and anyone who had a question, or piece of news, or grievance, could address it before the community. It was a good time to tell them, she thought. It was her right as a citizen to make this choice - telling the community farewell was just her being polite. 

"Alright." He turned, slipping out the door as quickly as he had entered. It wasn't the reaction she'd expected. No fight, no debate, no attempt to sway her towards staying. She felt almost lucky. If anyone could've convinced her to change her mind, it would be him. Her shadow, her partner, her other half. Her Bellamy. It would hurt to leave him.

She sat back on her heels, frantic hands finally frozen. 

She'd never been religious - there was no place for religion on the Arc, and she'd never much bothered to cultivate it after coming to the ground. Twists and turns had come at her so quickly those first three years; it had taken a long time for life to quiet down. But she had rarely prayed about it.

Grounders prayed, and she had seen it done. She understood the concept, in an abstract way. It was an attempt to seek comfort when confronted with the unknown. She wasn't sure if she was ready to pray, but she certainly needed some comfort, and a little perspective.

In the middle of the whirlwind of her half-packed bedroom, Clarke lay flat on the ground. She pushed the reed mats aside, exposing the hard packed dirt floor. She rubbed her hands against it, feeling the granules press against her calloused palms. She closed her eyes, imagining she could feel the massive planet's slow yet steady rotation. You could actually feel it on the Arc. She remembered that much. They had to rotate in order to produce artificial gravity, but the station was so small, so quick, compared to the real thing. A pale imitation. 

Nuclear war and chemical fallout hadn't been enough to stop the planet from moving. The Earth was here billions of years before humans, and it would be here for billions of years after. Clarke's time on this planet was just a blip on the radar, but for her, that was everything. 

Whether an afterlife existed or not, she vowed to make the most of right now, the only time she was guaranteed. So many people she'd loved had died before their time. Her father. Wells. Finn. Lexa. Even Sinclair, who had shown her the basics of the Arc's control panels when she had been a precocious ten-year-old. They were all gone. But she was still here. For some reason. 

"I have to go," she whispered to the empty room, staring at the thatched roof above her, holding tight to the dirt floor beneath. "This is the time. If I don't go now, I'll stay forever. People will depend on me, and I'll never break free. I need to experience what it is to be my own person. Otherwise, I might as well be back in that damn prison cell. I'm going. Please help me really believe all of that."

The roof made no reply, and neither did the floor. That was enough for her. She sat back up again.

\- - - -

"My thanks again to those who voted for me," Chancellor Lyric said, leading her first community campfire. The turnout was larger than usual, thanks to the recent election. It was also being held early; all citizens were excused from their work an hour earlier than usual to attend the meeting and to eat dinner. It was the best way to reach the most people (while keeping them fed and content). 

"To those who did not vote for me," she continued, "all I ask is that you give me time to change your mind. I speak for the people. My power comes from you. And as it has always been on the ground, we encourage you to speak for yourself as well. The floor is open to all those who wish to share."

She was a good orator, Clarke thought. She would be able to speak reason, and convince others to listen. 

There was much to share this week. Two couples announced their intent to marry. A family announced the passing of their grandfather, and plans for a memorial service. The farmer's coalition asked to trade for more wheat grain so that the bakers could produce more bread. 

Once the day to day was done and all other citizens had had the opportunity to speak, Clarke stepped forward. The gentle murmuring died as soon as she moved. Clarke had stood in front of this crowd to announce war, freedom, famine, and a successful planting season in the past. These were her people, and she had worked hard for their hushed respect. 

"I have come before you many, many times," Clarke began, "But this will be the last." There was a noise of collective inhalation. They were curious. confused, but not suspicious yet. 

"Ten years ago this summer I came here with one hundred other teens, deemed criminals by the Arc," she said, glancing around to make eye contact with people in the crowd. She saw Raven with her two-year-old daughter on her hip (the daughter she and Wick had named "Wren", yet called "Wrench", despite numerous protests). Raven gave her an encouraging nod, and Wrench waved her chubby fingers. Clarke picked up speed. 

"We were meant as guinea pigs, sacrifices - it was assumed we would not last. We did. We survived. With time, the rest of the Arc joined us, and we all learned how to thrive. We've built a city to support our Sky People tribe. I am proud of all that we have accomplished, and all that we will continue to accomplish. But for now, my time with you is done. I hope that you can forgive my errors - they were all committed with the best intentions. I will return to visit, but I won't be living within Arcadia's walls for some time. Thank you, for your support and understanding."

When she finished speaking and sat down again, the murmur had turned to a roar. 

"Where will you go?" A woman Clarke had treated at the med clinic wanted to know. 

"Will you come back one day?" A man from the guard asked. 

Through the clamor, Clarke searched for Raven again. Her friend looked surprised by the news, but when Clarke made eye contact, Raven nodded and smiled. She understood. Clarke waved quietly. Wrench waved back at her. She would miss that kid. 

Clarke was about to stand to answer more questions when Bellamy appeared in front of her. She was surprised - they hadn't spoken since he had confronted her the night before - but, as always, she trusted him to support her, even if he didn’t agree. Maybe he could help them understand. 

He raised a hand for silence, and the crowd quieted again. Bellamy was well-respected in his own right. Captain of the guard, member of the council, and an adviser to multiple Chancellors. His protection had also saved many a person from dismemberment by Grounders in the rougher years. 

"Clarke is exercising her right as a private citizen," Bellamy said. "It has always held true that all who are peaceful have been welcomed here. This is a colony that embraces all Sky People and those that they love. Conversely, we've never forced anyone to stay. If she wishes to go, she has the right to leave."

He took a deep breath, glancing right at Clarke before continuing. "Which is why I would like to announce that I will be joining her. I hereby resign my post as Captain of the Guard and promote Nathan Miller, my second in command, as my replacement. He will serve and protect you just as I have. I am proud to call Arcadia my home and I know that the work we have invested will not go in vain."

As soon as he finished speaking, the uproar began again, louder. Instead of sitting down, Bellamy turned to Clarke. She stared at his outstretched hand, glancing up at the little grin playing on his lips and eyebrow raised in a challenge. She took it, and he led them across the camp hand-in-hand to their houses, which stood side by side. 

"Wait here," he said, sprinting into his house and returning a moment later with his backpack over one shoulder, water bottle and machete visible on either side. 

"Ready?"

She stared at him, still a little dazed. "You're sure -"

"- that I want to do this?" He interrupted. "Well, you sure as hell didn't give me much time to think about it, but here I am. Let's go - we need to get to that clearing past Mount Weather before someone else tries to protest. Grab your bag."

She did, and they set off. 

Miller, Monty, Harper, and Jasper were waiting at the side gate. 

"We're not here to stop you," Jasper said immediately. "Just wanted to make sure I got a hug goodbye this time."

Clarke wrapped her arms around him, kissing her old friend on the cheek. "Take care of each other."

"Back at you," Monty said, leaning in to claim his own hug. 

"Thanks for the promotion," she heard Miller say to Bellamy. 

"Don't fuck it up," Bellamy replied, ducking Miller's half-hearted swing at him. 

"We'll visit," Clarke said, shouldering her pack a little higher. They all smiled and nodded. These were the people who loved her, who would miss her, but who didn't need her anymore. 

Harper opened the gate. "Be nice to each other!" She called after them, "I hear there are some pretty scary Grounders out there."

"We can scare them back!" Clarke yelled back. They took off at a brisk hike. Bellamy had a point about making it to the clearing east of Mount Weather tonight. They'd need a safe place to set up camp for the night, and that was as good as anywhere. It was neutral territory, at least. 

When they stopped for a break, they'd been walking about an hour with minimal words said between them. They'd reached a stream, and Clarke had reached down to fill her water flask while Bellamy leaned against a tree. 

"You know you don't owe me anything," she said quietly. "You've been a loyal friend to me for a long time. I could never ask you to throw your life after mine while I follow some ridiculous sense of self exploration."

"You don't need to ask," he shrugged. She stood again, turning to face him. "I'm a hopeless idiot when it comes to you, Clarke. You've always known that. You're the best friend I've got and if you're going, so am I."

The sentiment hurt a little, perhaps because she knew it's true for both of them. She subconsciously placed a hand on her stomach, touching the bumpy scar that ran across it. "I'm serious, Bell. It's been a long time. You don't owe me anything."

He looked down, staring at where her fingers had dislodged the fabric of her shirt and the rough skin revealed underneath. With a soft sigh, he walked right up to her, knelt to the ground, placed his hands on her hips, and leaned forward to gently kiss the scar. His actions surprised her, but she made no move to pull away. 

"I owe you everything," he whispered, throwing her five years into the past. 

The last time they'd stood like this, Abby was Chancellor and Clarke was a physician as well as a council member. She was a well-loved representative of the youth voters. Well-loved not only by her people, but also by Bellamy, who had taken to visiting her at night. It had started after she’d saved his life for the fifth or sixth time and he’d kissed her in thanks. His lips were as warm and insistent as she’d always imagined.

Skin meeting skin under the cover of the stars, excuses made to take trips alone, grins hidden behind stoic faces when facing each other in public. Hands brushing softly, where no one else would see. 

She wasn't sure what to call their relationship. It was still private, still new. O and Raven were both too busy with their own lives to notice the secret burning away inside Clarke. To the world, she and Bellamy remained platonic best friends, and that perception was enough for her. 

Then they had gotten pregnant. She'd taken a test to confirm it after two months. She'd set her mouth and scuffed her feet for three days, debating how to tell him. She'd settled on straightforward as usual, dropping the bomb that would change both their lives. 

His reaction had surprised her, the first thing to make her smile since she'd learned about it. He had picked her up by the hips and spun her around his room, then dropped to his knees to kiss her stomach, just like this. 

"What will we do?" She had asked, breathless. 

"Our very best," he'd grinned back. And she had believed him. 

A week later, before they had told anyone, she'd had to call her mother out of a meeting. Her stomach ached, a stabbing pain that left her confused and frantic. He was on patrol in the woods, out with a hunting party. She was afraid to call him back, unsure what her body was doing but convinced it was betraying her. 

Abby took an x-ray to see if it was her appendix. It was her Fallopian tube. An ectopic pregnancy. Rare, and impossible to save. Her mother operated immediately. The pregnancy had to be terminated, and an ovary removed, but Clarke had survived. No infection. 

Her mother had held her after the surgery and she'd cried for an hour about the loss of a child she'd barely decided she was ready to have. 

"There's no telling how life will work out, my love," Abby had said, rocking her daughter in her arms. "All you can do is your best. Be the girl I know you are inside, the one forged with steel, and I know you'll pick yourself up again. Griffins don't give up."

Her mother had been right. She was back at work two days later, stitches carefully bandaged. Back on the Arc, she wouldn't have even had a scar. Here on Earth their tools were less advanced. 

She hadn't been able to face him. Her body had killed their child, and now there was a significant chance she would never be able to have another. For the first time in their long history together, when she pushed him away after that, he had let her go without a fight. He'd said nothing. 

It had taken six weeks for her to be able to resume their friendship. He had accepted her back willingly enough, once she was ready. He had also made no move to get her alone again, and they hadn't slept together since. 

Everyone else believed Clarke had had an appendectomy. To this day only she, Bellamy, and Abby knew the truth. 

"Clarke," he whispered against her stomach, his lips sending shivers across her skin. "You must know what you mean to me." He looked up at her from his place on the ground, dark eyes burning into hers. 

A traitorous tear slipped down her left cheek. He stood up, and she wrapped her arms around him immediately, burying her face in his shoulder. 

"I'll be your friend, if that's what you want," he said into her hair, "but I can be more, if you'll let me."

She replies by kissing him, her body quickly remembering how it felt to have him pressed against her. The strength of his wiry arms wrapped around her, the hard planes of his back as she spreads her hands across them. It felt immediately comfortable. Like coming home. 

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "You wanted it so much and I -"

"- did nothing wrong," he interrupted fiercely, pulling back so she can see the sincerity in his eyes. "I thought you were a doctor! Would you ever let a patient think they did something to deserve a random illness?"

She pressed her face back into the crook of his neck and said nothing. He was right. She knew that. Ectopic pregnancies were not predictable or preventable. It was a miscarriage. Out of her control. 

"You want children."

She left the statement hanging, unwilling to add what they both know about her chances of having one. 

"I like children," he agreed. "I like their sticky faces and dirty knees and how deceivingly sweet they look when asleep. But Octavia has children. If I need a fix, I can go be favorite uncle. I don't need biological kids to feel happy with my life."

He presses a kiss to her forehead while he smoothing her hair back. The sex had been fantastic, but she'd missed the quiet intimacies just as much. He hadn’t touched her like this in years. He hadn’t held her like this since... Well, since she'd last invited him too. What a fool she'd been for waiting. 

"When we lost the baby..." He began, struggling through the words and the emotions laced into them. "I was broken, like you. I thought that if I gave you space then we could both heal. I thought we'd get another chance - but it never happened. You were elected chancellor, and you needed your entire life focused to get the job done. But now..."

He grinned at her. It was hesitant, slow to build, but it reminded her of the cocky grin he'd had back in their first days on Earth. The grin that had launched her very first Earth crush, even though she'd hated his attitude with every fiber of her being at the time. 

"Let's go see the sea, Clarke. Just the two of us. I've loved you since the days when you used to have to smack me off my high horse every damn afternoon. You've always been my Princess. Always will be."

She raised an instinctive hand to ruffle his messy hair. "I told you not to call me that, Mr. Whatever-the-hell-we-want."

He laughed, thinking about how dumb and reckless they'd all been at the beginning. Except for Clarke. Always the first person to present the most reasonable plan. If anyone could chart their way through one hundred miles of unknown territory, it was her. They might even survive this foolhardy plan.

"Now, are we going to run away together or what?" She said, smiling up at him. 

He gestured out to the wide world around them. 

"I'm pretty sure we already have." With a laugh, they picked up their bags and headed out through the trees. 

\- - -

One month later, after crossing the mountains and heading due east, they made it to the sea. They stood together for five minutes marveling at the strength of the waves before she grabbed his hand and led them in. 

When they visited Octavia and Lincoln eight months after that, Octavia asked what they thought of their new coastal lives. 

"It's very... free." Clarke said. 

"Yeah. No one's called a Council meeting in ages," Bellamy agreed. They grinned at each other, and Octavia rolled her eyes. 

"I've always known that the two of you were going to run away together one day," she said, ushering them inside her house. "I just had no idea it would make you so damn weird!"

Bellamy stuck his tongue out at his sister's back. Clarke gave him a gentle shove. It was funny how twenty-nine could still feel like nineteen. She tried to compose herself before stepping inside, her smile growing wider as her gaze settled on two little heads of curly black hair. 

"Uncle Bellamy! Aunt Clarke!" 

Bellamy scooped his niece and nephew up in his arms, spinning them around, and his laugh was enough. Eleven years later and they were finally happy. Free.

“Whatever the hell we want, indeed,” she whispered.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this on an iphone while roadtripping through Zimbabwe this summer so it took a lot of editing and I hope it turned out okay in the end. It is titled after the "Hamilton" song about George Washington giving up the presidency because I have a category 5 Hamilton problem ("Clarke Griffin is going hooooome"). Hope ya'll enjoyed it!


End file.
